I go down to the small cemetery by the edge of the river. Everything shines—there is no darkness here. The headstones persist in spite of what they know. They keep themselves up, pushing against that knowing which pulls them down, down. One stone is laid with a coquettish flower-crown, the next with ...
Maybe Laurie should die.
A friend once told me that he thinks Californians grow up thinking life is easy because they don’t have to deal with bad weather. He’s not entirely wrong: At home, the seasons melt into each other almost unnoticed—the sun shifts its shade, the wind picks up a chill, suddenly it’s dark at 4 p.m. ...
The end of daylight savings is here. Nights come earlier and days will soon be overcast. That is to say, light will be a scarce resource. We’re all poorly adapted to see in the dark and prone to vitamin D deficiencies. So it’s the time to get creative and embrace sun alternatives—it’s lamp season. ...
Chairlifts have always scared me. I remember when I had to board one for the first time, swiveling my skis atop the faded red line dyed into the ice below me as I waited for the seat. I looked back over my right shoulder, anxious to get the timing right. The chair was coming—my chance. I was ready. ...
Stepping into a wide square room, I am immediately struck by the monochrome adorning the walls. The room is white, and the air conditioning blasts from the ceiling, sending a preliminary chill down my spine. Then a second, and third, on and on, cascading—reverberating—through my body. Around the ...
An old scar is suddenly itchy, forcing me to remember a time of which I have no recollection. It’s a penny-sized crater, puckered on my right side, kissing my rib cage. My body’s permanent dimple. I mindlessly sweep my fingertips over its edges, wondering if it’ll hurt. It never has. If it ever ...
I dream of dance. Behind my closed lids, loose limbs and flashes of color swirl into a black vortex.
A little kindness can go a long way: A compliment here, a favor there, and you brighten someone’s day. Kindness is easy, and below, you’ll find some simple ways to spread it here at Brown.
If you are an avid reader of post-, you may have seen my entry a few weeks ago where I proclaimed a gaping dog-shaped hole in my life. It exists because I miss my pup from home, Sara (who is, unequivocally, the best dog, like all dogs). In an attempt to fill this hole in my heart, I’ve reached out ...
It was February of freshman year and the novelty of New England winter was starting to wear off. My fantasies of a winter wonderland were met with bare trees and blotches of yellow snow, bleak reminders of my tendency to over-romanticize. The snowflakes that once gently graced my face now fell repeatedly ...
Mother believes that a young girl’s upbringing is not complete without witnessing a butterfly’s life cycle. To be raised as a girl in our home is an act of shedding skin, growing a pair, and embracing change. If your wings get stuck, you wiggle about. If the chrysalis is tough, you punch its walls. ...
If you’re like me, Halloween is the time for last-minute panic and candy indulgence, a time for throwing together the shittiest costume the world’s ever seen and going, “No, you just don’t get the reference,” to people who see right through your Spooky Season laziness. But, as the old adage ...
Please hand-write a one page essay about yourself. Due tomorrow.
I first felt certainty at my masaní’s (grandmother’s) farm. I felt safe in her hogan, curled up with blankets, the stove fire hot on my cheeks, side-by-side with my younger siblings. I’d listen to their breathing, a steady rhythm accompanied by soft crackles from the burning wood. Through her ...
My oldest sister, Nikila, brought Radish home as a party favor when I was in the third grade. He was a purple betta fish, our family’s first pet, and the first animal I would ever form a bond with. I would crawl into my sister’s room every day after school to catch a glimpse of Radish swimming in ...
In kindergarten, our class read the story of the Gingerbread Girl, who comes alive after she is baked and runs away to escape being eaten. We had parents come into class and help us build gingerbread people, and then set them in the oven to bake during recess, only to find them missing when we returned. ...
Solutions by The State News
